


laundry day

by junkiebeannie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dirty Thoughts, Flirting, M/M, Panty Kink, Sexual Tension, Suggested Praise Kink, not explicit teehee, sexual tension: laundry version, suggested dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkiebeannie/pseuds/junkiebeannie
Summary: Steve's trying to get lost in his novel of the week when some guy wearing the honest-to-God ugliest sweater he's ever seen starts being a pervert. Things escalate from there.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 125





	laundry day

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written (much less finished!) anything in a very long time, but this kind of... happened.

Living on campus was painful in infinite multitudes, including but not limited to shitty suitemates, a disgusting communal bathroom, and cold dining hall pancakes. 

Today’s torture for Steve, however, was the damn-it-all-to-hell laundry situation. 

The laundry room itself was decently large, and close enough to his dorm that hauling his lavender-colored laundry basket wasn’t too much of a hassle. 

Yet, something about doing laundry on campus was so miserable. It seemed like a mountainous task that somehow needed doing every week, a huge chunk of time in Steve’s jam-packed schedule blacked out due to laundry.

So, as Steve found himself in the laundry room on an overcast Tuesday morning, he was not in the best mood. 

His blend of denim, soft cotton t-shirts, and exercise clothing spun in a mirage of neutrals with fifteen minutes left on the wash cycle. After that was an hour-long dry cycle. 

The only good thing about laundry day was that it allowed Steve to completely dedicate himself to his novel of the week. This week’s pick dealt with druids and magic and romance. Sam relentlessly teased him about his love for romance, but God forbid Steve take a step back from his desert-dry romantic life and fantasize a little. 

Don’t misunderstand — he had sex and everything and was far from celibate, but he hadn’t really dated since Peggy had left him for a woman. Yes, it had certainly stung, but Angie had a brightness that Peggy responded so well to that it was clear they were meant to be far more than Steve and Peggy ever were. They were even close to almost being friends again. 

Steve stuck his head out of his book long enough to clock the timer. Ten minutes. 

From where he was mostly hidden behind some machines, he allowed his eyes to wander across the slightly grungy room. There was another wash cycle valiantly trying to remove unmentionable stains out of duvet, a solid fifty minutes left on the timer. Other than that, the room was empty. It was an off time for laundry, only barely 8:00 am, most students still sleeping or at the very least in class. 

Steve’s eyes landed on the sock stack. And, of course, on the panty pile. 

Thankfully, his school recognized one misery of laundry: the neverending loss of panties and socks. Instead of allowing socks and panties to live their lonely lives hidden in the washers or dryers or abandoned on the floor, a small front table had been designated as the island of misfit clothing articles. If one found a Nike ankle sock in solitude, they simply placed it on said table where the owner would hopefully find it one day. 

The socks were seemingly all white, gray, or black, with a couple of bright exceptions. The panty pile, despite its arousing name, mostly contained simple, everyday or colorful, cartoon-filled pairs. Every once in a while, a lacy pair would lose its way and end up in the pile, but Steve hadn’t noted anything interesting sticking out today. 

He tried to avoid grossly gawking at the pile, because he was a feminist and respected women. He did, however, have something of a panty kink. Only with willing partners, as the actual garment itself did little for him, outside of inspiring explicit thoughts. God, he was horny. 

The door opened. 

Speaking of horny.

A stunning man walked in to the laundry room. 

Steve had seen many attractive people in his life, and fucked a decent bit of them, but something about this man demanded and held his attention. 

He was gorgeous. 

Tall, but not as tall as Steve was (nobody ever is), with a lithe yet still muscular build that drew Steve’s eyes across his exposed legs. 

The man was wearing a garish, outdated black sweater, purple and orange (and a half dozen other colors) clashing horribly in the form of stripes, rhombuses, and triangles. It was just a tad too ugly to be considered cool vintage, but Steve could imagine the man finding it in a non-trendy thrift store easily enough. The unsightly sweater was tucked into a much more reasonable pair of baggy, short, denim shorts, held up by a thick black leather belt. His pink, beat-up high-top converse were marked with a rainbow of sharpie colors, spelling out words and phrases and, hell, probably song lyrics. Two clearly different socks peeked out from the shoes. 

His face was the real reason that Steve’s breath caught in his throat a little. His jaw was sharp, as were his cheekbones. He had a strong brow, resting above light and clear eyes. His lips — Jesus wept, his lips — were so pouty that the rush of dirty images to Steve’s mind was damn near involuntary. His brown hair was slightly wavy from where a few locks escaped from the low bun at the nape of his neck. 

The thing was, the man was not carrying a laundry basket and detergent, only coming armed with a bright yellow backpack that was covered in pins and patches. Something that Steve could only tell because the man immediately went for the panty pile and sock stack table, turning his back to Steve as he began searching through the panty pile. 

Honestly, Steve wouldn’t have even pegged the guy as straight, much less the douchey straight guy who looks through girls’ panties. 

Steve sighed, setting down his book and starting to get up. 

Many assumed he would be the type to encourage this behavior, as most pegged him as a frat boy. It wasn’t his fault he was blonde, blue-eyed, and tall. His bulk itself was from the relentless exercising he partook in after growing out of his childhood illnesses. Overall, people consistently judged him as entitled, straight, and (ew) conservative. So, this man in the absolutely ridiculous how could you wear that in public and why sweater was going to be a little shocked at a fellow douchebag calling him out. 

Appearances withstanding, Sarah Rogers didn’t raise no bystander.

The man was still frantically searching through the pile, and did not notice when Steve got up. The man, in fact, seemed to think that he was completely alone in the room. To be fair, Steve had been mostly hidden behind some machines. 

“Now, what gives you the right to look through that and invade these women’s privacy, buddy?”

The man’s head shot up like a bullet. Yep, definitely did not notice he wasn’t alone. He turned sharply, his hands coming to rest beside on the table behind him, as if he could hide his crime. His ears also pinked up beautifully, the blush spreading across his high cheekbones and straight nose. Focus, Rogers.

“Oh fuck,” the man said, his voice panicked and a little small, “I for sure thought I was alone.” The man’s pretty, clear eyes flicked across Steve’s broad shoulders and muscled chest, likely figuring out quickly that yes, Steve could and would beat his ass. The man gulped, and Steve eyed the movement of his Adam’s apple with no, not interest, focus!

Despite himself, Steve felt a little smile tugging at his lips at the hand-in-the-cookie-jar look that graced the stranger’s face. He bit his cheeks to stop the grin. 

“No, buddy, definitely not alone,” Steve said casually, “Now, do you want to tell me what you were doing there, looking through those women’s belongings?” 

A furrow appeared between the man’s manicured, thick brows (once again, how was this guy straight?), and Steve felt the urge to smooth it out. Christ, maybe he did need to get laid. 

All of a sudden, the storm passed through the man’s face, and it transformed him incredibly. HIs brows lifted, his eyes widened, his pouty lips opening on an ‘o’ that immediately sent Steve on a very, very dirty train of thought, and the man laughed. His laugh was surprisingly loud after his panicked little voice, filling the room with the warm and robust sounds. 

“No fucking way!” the man got out as his laughter turned airy and disbelieving. “You think I’m some pervy panty-raiding frat guy!”

Now, it was Steve’s brows that furrowed, the man’s eyes noticing the action immediately. Steve did not want to admit that yes, that was exactly what he was thinking, not when this pretty guy was acting so floored by the idea. 

“Well, what else would you be doing?” Steve ground out, his voice taking on an edge that revealed his frustrations a little. Usually, when confronting douchebags, he only had to straighten his back and they would back off. They didn’t usually look at him as if he was missing out on some cosmic joke. 

At this, the man turned nervous. He bit his lip, his chin tilting towards the ceiling as he scrunched his nose a little. It was honestly adorable. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as he lowered his head. His ears were pierced, which Steve hadn’t noticed before. Steve’s eyes darted to the other ear, to notice that no, in fact, his ears weren’t pierced. Only his left ear held a tiny gold hoop, circling around his lobe. If it was possible, Steve’s face wrinkled in even more confusion. 

See, Steve was well aware — and relieved at the fact — that the world was becoming more accepting, lines between gay and straight becoming blurred. But, Steve had also known he was queer since he was five-years-old, and had gotten pretty good at telling when someone was gay or not. And this man was wearing booty shorts, a flamboyantly colorful sweater, pink converse, mismatched socks, and a single earring on a Tuesday morning in New York City. 

Was it a favor for a friend? A friend asking the man to find the pair of panties she had misplaced? But, even then that was kind of an intimate request...

The man’s face had steadily warmed right in front of Steve’s unerring stare, and he seemed to tire of the scrutiny all at once. 

“Christ, they’re my panties I’m looking for!” he blurted out. 

Steve’s mind emptied alarmingly quickly, and he blinked.

Because, instead of confusion clouding his thoughts, his head was now conjuring up explicit images of this pretty man with his pretty eyes and his thick thighs wearing nothing but a pair of panties. Steve drew in a sharp breath.

The man seemed to be unaware of Steve’s sinning mind, continuing on his melodic and expressive voice, “God, that’s so embarrassing, but that’s the truth! I’m not some pervert, okay? I mean, unless you’re homophobic. Ha, that would just be the fucking cherry on the top of the sundae, huh? I lose my favorite pair of panties, have to drag myself out of bed at the inhumane time of before 10:00am, to try and find them, because they are my favorite, and get beaten up by some homophobic beefcake —”

“Stop talking.” Steve said, sharply, in a tone that was in no way appropriate to use on a stranger. However, the man’s pretty mouth shut immediately. Steve got the urge to call him a good boy, but he quickly squashed it down. 

“Now, let’s take a deep breath.” 

The man looked like he wanted to argue, but Steve shot him a look that got him complying easily enough. Together, they took a loud breath through their noises, exhaling it noisily. Despite the obvious desire to snark, the man’s shoulders and jaw (which was sharp as all hell) relaxed noticeably. 

“Good. Now, let me explain a few things,” Steve started. “Firstly, yes, I did think you were some douchebag panty raiding. You can’t blame me for standing against that. Secondly, I am not going to beat you up for anything, certainly not for being gay. Thirdly…” 

Steve trailed off, suddenly feeling nervous and not all that sure what he was going to say, exactly. The man was still simply looking at him, curiosity in his eyes. 

“I’m Steve,” he decided on, sticking out his hand. 

The man looked a little weary, but shook his hand regardless, saying, “Bucky.”

“Excuse me?” Steve asked.

The man’s face transformed from weary to exasperated, his eyes rolling dramatically. God, he was so expressive. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like —

“My name. My name’s Bucky,” Bucky explained. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked, knowing his incredulity was showing plain as day, “What kind of name is Bucky?”

Bucky seemed to get a little offended at this, his face scrunching up adorably as he placed his hands on his hips. His fingernails were covered in chipped green nail polish, once again a horrible clash to everything else he was wearing. 

“Listen, Steve,” Bucky started, and God Steve needed to hear his name out of that mouth more, “First you wrongfully accuse me of a crime, then mock my name! I’m glad you’re not homophobic or support panty-raiders, but you’re kind of an asshole.”

It took a second for the words to register, but once they did, Steve felt the laughter bubble out of him before he could even think to stop it. Bucky seemed even more frustrated by this, huffing out an incredulous sound. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I really am,” Steve explained. “It’s just, it’s been a while since anyone other than my mother or my friends called me an asshole. Most people can’t quite see past the, well,” he made some sweeping gesture to his large frame, which Bucky’s eyes hungrily followed. Oh. 

“Well,” Bucky said a note of that huffiness lingering in his tone, “I can admit that that,” Bucky made an equally sweeping gesture to Steve’s bulk, which made him want to preen, “is distracting, but the day I neglect to call somebody on their shit is the day they lay my coffin in the ground while my Ma’s crying.” 

Steve felt a bright warmth in his chest, and knew he wore a somewhat dopey grin. Not only was this man — Bucky — pretty as sin, but he was fiery and funny as all hell. 

Bucky smiled a little shyly at the intensity of Steve’s expression, before shifting restlessly. 

“Listen, Steve, I’m glad you’re all chill and a feminist, but I still need… uh…” Bucky made another gesture to the table behind him.

Because, yes, Bucky was pretty, fiery, and funny. He also wore panties. How did Steve forget that fact? Christ, Steve needed to back off and this incredible guy go on his way.

“Oh, you still need to find your panties? You need some help or something?” Steve instead said, his grin turning wider and a little meaner. 

Bucky’s face, which had returned to his beautifully tan complexion, darkened again as he blushed. For a moment, he looked offended, and Steve noticed his jaw squaring up to defend himself. Then, realization sparked in his eyes and his stubborn look melted into a smirk. 

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked, biting his lip. Yeah, this kid was going to be trouble.

Steve had a moment of fuck it, and took a step forward, closing nearly half of the distance between Bucky and him. 

“I’m glad that despite the distraction of this,” Steve made a vague gesture towards his body, “you aren’t too obtuse.”   
“People have called me many things,” Bucky drawled, and Steve’s mind quickly filtered through honey, sweetheart, pretty thing, good boy, “but obtuse sure as hell ain’t one of them.”

“You want to tell me all about it on our date?” Steve asked, in his notoriously straight-shooter way of his. 

Bucky, because he truly was carved in heaven for Steve’s enjoyment, rolled with it beautifully. 

“Let me guess,” Bucky himself took the step forward, leaving a few inches between the pair, his head tilted up to continue to hold Steve’s gaze, “if I wear the panties you’ll pay for dinner?”

Steve shook his head a little at this incredible man in front of him. 

“How do you know me so well already?” he pondered, his eyes tracing the infrequent freckles across Bucky’s face. 

“Well,” Bucky said, smiling viciously, “let’s find those panties.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had too much fun making Bucky's outfit as colorful and weird yet still cute as possible/ I'm trying to see if inspiration for a follow-up strikes, and comments mean the world :)
> 
> other fun details I thought of but did not include in here:   
\- bucky is an engineering student who skates (why? because I want him to)  
\- steve is majoring in art and probably does colorful portraits full of movement  
\- bucky is very mouthy and quirky   
\- steve is intense and needs to ~relax~


End file.
